


SLEEPINGJOHN redux

by Queenoftheuniverse



Series: ALTER 'VERSE [6]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Angst, Child Abuse, Disosociative Identity Disorder, Gay Stuff, Hypnotism, M/M, Multiple Personality Disorder, Swearing, velvet fetish
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-10-03
Updated: 2015-10-13
Packaged: 2018-04-24 13:36:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 7
Words: 9,546
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4921597
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Queenoftheuniverse/pseuds/Queenoftheuniverse
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For those who came in late: I posted this work years ago and it wrote me, rather than the other way around, so I am re-doing it, editing, tightening, and adding more chapters and backstory. I consider this series my baby and I want it perfect! </p><p>For those who have already read it I promise some new stuff if you would like to re-read!</p><p>And so, in summary:</p><p>When John was in Afghanistan something happened to him one night, something so horrible that years later, during a bar fight, his mind shatters.</p><p>SleepingJohn protects TheBody at night. SleepingJohn has a knife under his pillow.</p><p>SleepingJohn meets Sherlock and the healing begins.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. WE MEET SLEEPINGJOHN

CHAPTER ONE: WE MEET SLEEPINGJOHN

The first time Sherlock met the personality called "SleepingJohn", the experience was mildly disconcerting.

Sherlock had just come home from touching base with his Homeless Network. Food and fivers and he was once again the Networks' friend. It was something he did every now and then. 

The flat was dark, it was after midnight, but with the curtains open the yellow streetlights made the place just light enough to see a figure standing in the lounge room.

Sherlock paused. 

Any number of scenarios flitted through his brain until he noticed it was basically the shape of Dr Watson. So he softly lent against the doorframe, arms crossed over his chest, still in his Belstaff, and watched.

In no time at all he deduced that, although this was Dr Watson, for some reason it just didn't seem like him.

John was standing, hunch shouldered. His shoulder blades were quite prominent in his tight white army surplus T-shirt. He was rocking a little on his legs, arms hugging himself. Sherlock could see from John's profile that his eyes were almost preternaturally bright, lots of whites showing as they were open as wide as eyes could go. 

His mouth was moving, mumbling.

The rocking was jerky. Sherlock had seen the same movements in asylums and rehab. It made his stomach knot.

Finally Sherlock surmised that John was sleep walking, and stepped into the room, arms down to pose no threat in case it was a war flashback dream.

John snapped his head around so fast that Sherlock froze, and made his face blank. John had a terrifying look on his face.

"Sneaking up on me?" John hissed in a voice much deeper than his usual voice. Sherlock schooled his face to look non threatening.

"Of course not John." He said quietly.

"NOT JOHN!" John growled, staring hard at Sherlock, looking as if he were assessing risk factors.

"Then who are you?" Sherlock asked, voice still quiet, not moving but to breathe.

John kept his eyes locked to Sherlocks. Finally he growled:

"My name is SleepingJohn. I protect the body when John is sleeping." 

Sherlock nodded, still deducing. SleepingJohn allowed him to.

"How do you protect him?" Sherlock asked then, still not moving, still posing no threat. It seemed a very important thing not to threaten this John.

SleepingJohn hardened his eyes and Sherlock suppressed a shiver. SleepingJohn was disconcerting to say the least. 

He spoke again:

"I make sure nothing can touch The Body. I Guard it. I Keep it safe." 

"From what?" Sherlock asked, hoping for a split second his 'fridge and table usage habits had not upset John to this degree. 

"From all the bumps in the night." SleepingJohn said, almost in a whisper. "The secret feet, the hissing sand, the big men, the shiny knives....stop them from seeing The Body."

Sherlock took all this in. A proper genius like him filtered through the relevant information in mere seconds.

He concluded that this must be a split from Johns normal personality. Trauma usually caused this and from the comments SleepingJohn had just made, the trauma was from John's time in  
Afghanistan.

Hissing sand and shiny knives.

Sherlock wondered, not for the first time, exactly what Captain Watson of the fifth Northumberland Fusiliers had gone through in that desert war.

He had to ask the next question, just to be very sure. He said:

"Are there any more people guarding The Body?" Usually there were more personalities. Hence the archaic but more recognisable term "Multiple Personality Disorder."

"Just me, at night. Just me. I am all The Body needs at night."

Sherlock stopped that line of questioning, discovering he actually didn't want to know the answer, not yet. He cursed himself a coward.

"The Body needs sleep, needs to rest." Sherlock said. "If you are up guarding him, when does he sleep?"

"He is asleep. He does not know. He is well rested in the morning."

"But you use The Body at night. The muscles, part of his brain, and these are not resting."

"Not normally up, not normally walking around..." SleepingJohn explained. "Usually in bed, holding the knife, ready for action."

"Why are you up tonight?" Sherlock asked. What had happened?

"Something happened. Something happened to The Body today."

Sherlock went cold.

"What? Please, what happened?" He asked quickly, almost angrily, such was his worry.

SleepingJohn squinted his overly bright eyes at Sherlock.

"You care for The Body." He stated.

"I care for John very much." Sherlock admitted to this John, more than he could to John when he was awake.

"There is no danger from you" SleepingJohn stated.

"Never." Sherlock promised.

SleepingJohn went back to rocking, hugging his ribs. Almost as if he had dismissed Sherlock now he was deemed not to be a threat.

"Please. SleepingJohn...what happened? What happened to The Body today?" Sherlock whispered then, perhaps a little afraid and not just for himself and what he had possibly done.

"Bad. Pretty....bad..." SleepingJohn said, nodding along with his rocking.

"I can help." Sherlock whispered. "I don't know what you and John need but I can help."

SleepingJohn just rocked and mumbled.

Sherlock went over Johns schedule in his head. Despite sometimes not knowing John was even home, he knew Johns movements. Tonight was Thursday. John had 8 hours at the surgery and then it was drinks at the pub with Lestrade like every Thursday night.

"SleepingJohn, did this happen at the clinic, or the pub?" Sherlock asked, starting to narrow things down.

"Pub...." SleepingJohn told him, still not looking at him, continuing to rock. 

Sherlock silently slid his phone out and text Lestrade, despite it being 1 am.

"WHAT HAPPENED AT THE PUB WITH JOHN TONIGHT?" -SH

"SleepingJohn, what do you need to do to keep The Body safe?" Sherlock asked then, remembering from a paper he read on Dissociative Identity Disorder, the more recent term for what John was experiencing, that each personality had a "role" to perform. 

"Need to watch. Keep watch. Always. When The Body is sleeping he is vulnerable. He's not safe. I keep the sleeping body safe."

So something had happened in Afghanistan while John had been asleep. Something so bad it caused Johns mind to split. And if so, what happened-

Sherlocks phone blipped.

"USUAL DRINKS, WE PLAYED POOL. THERE BIT OF BOTHER WITH A BIG DRUNK BLOKE BUT JOHN HANDLED IT. JOHN WAS NOT HURT." GL 

Sherlock read that and frowned, and then his phoned blipped again.

"NEITHER WAS I, IF YOU WERE WONDERING." -GL

Sherlock brushed this off. Of course Lestrade was okay, he was a policeman and had handcuffs.

"DEFINE "BIT OF BOTHER".-SH

The phone blipped straight away, as if Lestrade was already sending the text as Sherlock sent his.

"IS JOHN OKAY?"- GL

"NO, JOHN IS NOT OKAY. TELL ME WHAT HAPPENED."- SH

"BIG GUY IN UNIFORM, HAD A FEW TOO MANY UNDER HIS BELT. STARTED PUSHING AROUND THE BARTENDER, A MUCH SMALLER BLOKE, GOT LOUD. BIG BLOKE PULLED A KNIFE, JOHN DISARMED HIM AND SAT ON HIM TILL I COULD CUFF THE GUY. JOHN STAYED ON HIM UNTIL MY GUYS GOT THERE."-GL

"OH, AND I CHECKED JOHN OVER. NOT A SCRATCH ON HIM."-GL

Sherlock paused. Big military bloke, smaller bloke, knife, drunkenness. The only thing Sherlock could do would be to ask John about his night in the morning. 

He slid his phone away without texting Lestrade back.

"SleepingJohn, can you take John back to bed now I am here?" Sherlock asked. "I can watch The Body. I am not going to sleep tonight."

"John says you are trustworthy." SleepingJohn said. "He says you don't sleep much." he paused. "He says it could be okay for me to take John back into the room."

"Are you talking to John now?" Sherlock asked. This was truly fascinating, despite it being his John...

"I am checking with UnderJohn. It is John but his subconscious. He won't remember any of this in the morning."

"SleepingJohn, I can promise you I will protect you both from anything." Sherlock said, his voice deep and serious. He meant it. Whatever it was that split John must have been ghastly and Sherlock would save John from that memory. "Take TheBody to bed."

SleepingJohn searched Sherlocks face, eyes darting everywhere. Whatever he saw ,it must have been okay because SleepingJohn did a military turn and marched off. He stopped at the door to Johns room and turned back.

"UnderJohn says to tell you we have a knife under our pillow. He says Don't come in on us suddenly."

"Of course SleepingJohn. Thank you for telling me. Good night." SleepingJohn went into Johns bedroom and clicked the door shut.

Sherlock flopped onto the couch and spent the remainder of the night in his thinking position, hands tented under his chin, staring at nothing, brain busy as a five lane highway.

#


	2. JOHN FLIRTS

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> NEW CHAPTER ADDED FROM THE OLD STORY!!!
> 
> This is Flirt arriving. We love Flirt!!

CHAPTER TWO: JOHN FLIRTS

EARLIER THAT EVENING:

John was glad to get to the pub that night. He had had a long drawn out day in the surgery and was frankly tired of human urine. For some reason, as sometimes happens, everyone wanted their wee tested today and John was sure he would order a dark beer tonight so as not be reminded of the colour of piss.

Lestrade and some of the Yarders were there already. A hearty cheer went up as John arrived and Lestrade muscled aside some of the boys to let John sit at their table. John removed his jacket and laid it over the back of the booth as he shook hands with everyone and said a multitude of hellos.

"What are you having John?" Angus from Vice asked, standing to go to the bar.

"Guinness. Please. Dark!" John ordered, laughing to himself.

The night went well. It was always fun getting together to let off steam. John managed to fend off the usual Sherlock questions, the usual Sherlock jokes, and the usual Sherlock and him innuendos. 

When it was his turn to get the beers in, he was pleasantly tipsy. 

"Another round please." He ordered from Justin, the frankly buff barman.

"Right you are Doctor Watson!" Justin winked, and John grinned. Bit of flirting never hurt anyone.

"Doctor hey?" Came a voice above his right shoulder. John turned and looked up into the face of a chiselled soldier, his uniform still neat although his state of inebriation was not.

John put out his hand.

"John. Just back on leave?" He asked, as the soldier shook his hand.

"Captain Richard Hedley, no jokes please, it's my real name." The Captain grinned and John laughed. 

"I'm real sorry about that!" He laughed. "Where are you stationed?"

"Just back from Khandihar."

"Tough place. How long you on leave for?"

"Three more days. Been doing a pub crawl, lost my mates two pubs back." The captain waved in the general direction of the pub doors. "Light weights."

John laughed again.

"Take it easy yeah?" He said, as Justin put his beers on the bar. "Don't want to be AWOL. That's a hanging offence!" 

"Will do. Nice ta meet ya!" The captain waved, a bit wobbly in his boots.

John carried his beer order over to the table and squished back in his seat.

"Winning hearts and minds?" Lestrade said, nodding over to the soldier who was now in a heated discussion with Justin.

"I reckon he's just about cut off. He was Legless mate." Was Johns reply.

"Justin can handle himself, but eyes on anyway. I like this place. Don't want it trashed." Lestrade said, his eyes sharp and on point. He couldn't help it. It was his policeman nature.

"Seriously, aren't you ever off duty?" John asked.

"No John, I am nothing but a policeman you know. Even in my casual blazer and four beers in."

"That blazer really is casual." The way John said 'casual' it implied "cat litter fodder."

"Says you, what was that monstrosity you wore-"

The banter was cut short by a cry from the bar.

"He's got a knife!!"

As everyone cleared the bar suddenly, John could see that Captain Hedley had dragged Justin over the bar by his designer T-shirt and had a knife to his spray tanned neck. He was hissing something and Justin was mute. Who ever expects a knife pulled on them?

Captain Hedley must have been well in his cups to perform this act of violence in front of a bar full of Scotland Yards finest, even if they were off duty, and they were all primed for action the second it became clear what was going on.

However it was John Watson who got to him first, disarming him in four easy, violent, and bloody moves. He got the knife off the big man, broke his nose, then his arm, then had him on the ground, chest first, before anyone could even draw breath.

Lestrade got there second.

"Jesus John!" He said, in a mixture of fear and awe, getting out his cuffs. "That was amazing!"

As Lestrade cuffed the groaning Captain, Kristine from records was calling a patrol in. Others gathered around Justin to check him for injuries and still others were clearing the pub out of patrons until the on duty police could arrive.

John didn't move from where he had landed on Hedley. He had a strange, almost blank, look on his face.

"You good mate?" Lestrade asked, pointing at a cop and then the knife, to secure the weapon. When he looked back at John he still hadn't moved, was still staring down at the now almost unconscious Hedley. Lestrade touched Johns shoulder, moving him up and off as the on-duty patrol arrived to take Hedley in.

"Mate...?" Lestrade added, frowning. John suddenly shook himself and then smiled brightly.

"That was a bit scary!" He said, his voice light and almost breathy. Shock, maybe, Lestrade thought, though he was unsure.

"You did well mate. Never really seen you in action before." Lestrade commented in his professional 'calm the spooked horse' voice.

"Impressed?" John smiled, turning to Lestrade and letting him have the full force of those indigo blue eyes of his. Lestrade grinned. Oh yeah, those were panty droppers for sure. Lestrade liked it.

"Course I was sunshine, and you know it."

John giggled. Actually giggled. 

"I'll get you a cab John, your statement can wait."

"Flirt." John said, and Lestrade grinned.

"Oh, you'd know if I was Flirting sunshine." He winked, and handed John his jacket. "I'll wait outside with you. Angus, call John a cab."

Angus mock saluted with two fingers as Lestrade and John, sliding his arms in his coat, left the pub to wait on the footpath for the cab.

"Where did you learn those moves, John?" Lestrade asked, shoving his hands in his pockets to warm them. It was a bit nippy.

"A boy has to know how to protect himself." John said breathily, and giggled again. 

"How many beers did you have mate?" Lestarde laughed then, and John snorted.

"Beer? How pedestrian..."

A sleek black London taxi pulled up.

"Here's ya cab mate. Go home and sleep it off." Lestarde said, holding his hand out to shake John's goodbye. John took his hand, and yanked him down for a kiss, of all things. It was quick, more than a peck, less than a snog, and Lestrade liked it. A lot.

"Damn, Three Continents..." He sighed to himself, smiling. 

Then he turned to enter back into the fray.

#


	3. SOMETHING BAD HAS HAPPENED

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I added a bit more Flirt and Lestrade, otherwise this is basically the same as the original chapter two! But it's...like..chapter three now..

CHAPTER THREE: 

SOMETHING BAD HAS HAPPENED

John wandered out to the kitchen in the morning, his hair all fluffy from sleep. Seeing Sherlock on the couch in Mind Palace position still didn't stop him from asking:

"Tea?"

He was pleasantly surprised when he got an answer.

"That would be lovely John." Sherlock swept himself up into a sitting position. "Sleep well?"

"Yeah, yes, I did." John said, filling the jug. That was weird. Sherlock was obviously up to something, asking about his sleep. He never did that, at least not because he cared about John's sleep. More likely something about circadian rhythms or crows feet or something just as obscure and case related.

"Lestrade said you had some issue at the pub last night." Sherlock said then, standing, his suit rumpled from a night on the couch.

"Yeah, some guy, causing trouble." John said, putting bags into his cup. "Why did Lestrade call you, is it a case? I have to go in and give my statement this morning before work. I don't remember much after disarming the guy but I was a bit...tipsy."

"Greg tells me you took him down quite easily."

"He was drunk." John shrugged. The jug clicked and he poured the hot water into the cups.

"Still....well done..." Sherlock said. "Well done indeed."

"Sherlock, don't start confusing me. It is too early." John said as he milked and sugared the tea.

"Confusing you?"

"Yes, with compliments. I am sure biting comments suit you better."

John handed Sherlock his tea and sat in his usual chair.

"John, biting comments, really." Sherlock snorted. 

John didn't answer, just smiled over his cup.

#

Greg was on duty when John got to the station to quickly give his statement, so the doctor made his way to his office.

"Hey John, how's the head?" He smiled, as John tapped on the open door and popped his face in.

"Not bad." He answered, sitting on the chair Lestrade waved him to. "How's the Captain?"

"The MPs picked him up from Bart's with a broken arm and fractured nose. He's been charged of course."

"And Justin?"

"He's good. Thanks you of course. Looks like you have free beers forever there, and I, as your friend, insist on accompanying you to act as your voice of conscience."

"And if I have spare drinks, you will gladly help me drink them?"

"Of course John. What are friends for?"

John laughed and Lestrade remembered the Doctors lips on him. He coughed and pushed over a pad and pen.

"Just write what you recall please John. Then you are free to leave."

John took the pen in his left hand and spent ten minutes writing. He frowned after a whole and then looked up at Greg, who stopped doing his own paperwork.

"Okay?"

"How did I get home?" John asked.

"I got Angus to call you a cab." Lestrade answered. "You don't recall?"

"Nothing past sitting on Hedley." John said. "It's all...black."

"Ah....that explains it." Greg said, then slowly grinned.

"What? Greg, what?" John said, with an answering smile. "Did I throw up on Katherine's shoes...oh god, I didn't did I!!??"

"Worse." Greg didn't stop grinning.

John moaned, and grabbed at his eyebrows with one hand, eyeballing Greg.

"What did I do!!??"

"Planted one. Right here." Greg said, and pointed to his own mouth.

"I did not!!!!" 

Greg nodded, grinning like the Cheshire Cat.

John slid his paper and pen over, blinking several times. His face was blank and then he looked under his lashes at the Detective Inspector.

"Did you like it Greg?"

"'Course I did. You're Three Continents Watson, experienced in all things lip related." Greg said offhanded, reviewing Johns work.

John giggled, the same giggle as last night, and Greg looked up, feeling slightly disconcerted. John was, presumably, not drunk now. Why was he giggly? Hungover maybe?

"Okay, well, thanks for the statement John. Don't worry about the blank stuff, this has the most important things in it." He said, collating the pages and laying them on the table in front oh him.

"Flirt" John said, leaving his bottom lip under his top teeth and looking coyly at Greg. Greg frowned. He was pretty sure he was not flirting, he was at work after all...

"Ah, John..." He said, "It's...I'm..."

John sat up straight then, face blank again. Then he stood, and put his hand out. Lestrade shook it.

"Thanks for coming in John." He said, akwardly.

"Later, Detective Inspector." John said briskly, military turned and left the room.

Greg stared at the open door John had disappeared through, frowning. He had no idea what just happened but he would remind John to take it easy on the alcohol in future.

 

 

#

After an hour of online research into DID, Sherlock took a cab to The Yard. He was sure John would have given his statement by now as he was due at the clinic by nine.

He burst into Lestrades office and sat, quite at home.

"Please sit." Greg said sarcastically under his breath.

"Did you notice anything strange about John last night?" Sherlock asked, without preamble.

"You mean apart from the fact that a five foot six fluffy jumper wearing doctor disarmed a six foot three drunk knife wielding Army Captain?" Lestrade said, not dropping the sarcasm.

"Yes. How did John appear afterwards?"

"Cool as a cucumber." Lestrade said. "The mans feathers cannot be ruffled."

Sherlock raised one eyebrow and then tented his hands again, thinking.

"How was he when he came in to give his statement?"

"He left pretty soon after." Lestrade went on. "He was a bit..." Lestrade looked for a word and settle on: "...quiet, but it's the shock innit?"

"You have been most helpful." Sherlock stood suddenly.

"Wait, is there something going on? With John?" Greg asked then.

"Not sure. I'll let you know." Sherlock said, and swept from the room.

"Bloody Holmes." Lestrade muttered to himself.

#

After lunch, while Sherlock was at Barts, he got a phone call from Sarah at the clinic asking where John was.

"He left the flat at 8 this morning." Sherlock informed her. "He was at the station giving a statement and my understanding is he left soon after."

"He never got here." Sarah said. "And he is not answering his phone."

"Ah. Get a locum. John has been feeling under the weather, he must have gone home to sleep." Sherlock lied quickly. "Allow him a few days."

"Sure Sherlock. Tell him get well soon from us."

Sherlock hung up straight away, thinking madly. Where would John have gone? Was he in danger? 

Did SleepingJohn make him do something, go somewhere, and now he was lost?

Sherlock cracked and text Mycroft.

LOST JOHN. CAN YOU TXT ME HIS TELEPHONE GPS CO-ORDINATES?-SH

Mycroft text him back almost straight away. It was sometimes useful having a brother who had tabs on nearly every 'phone in London.

CARELESS. HIS PHONE IS ON THE CORNER OF REGENTS PARK AND SOVEREIGN STREET. -MH

Sherlock left the lab straight away, not even calling goodbye to Molly Hooper, and caught a cab to Johns co-ordinates. 

When he got to the park, he ran through the paths until he finally found John, sitting slumped on a park bench, a cup of take away coffee in his hand.

Sherlock slowed to a walk approached him cautiously.

"John?" he asked, not sure which John he would be talking to. Best to be as safe as possible, keep his voice neutral.

John seemed not to hear him.

"John, you missed work..." Sherlock went on

John turned his head slowly to stare at Sherlock. His eyes were red and there was a slight tremor in his face.

"Ah." Sherlock said, deduction over. "John, come on home. You're drunk."

"Not drunk." John said, then burped hideously. He giggled. "Okay, I am slightly drunk. Only a little bit. A teensy tad..." He held up his fingers an millimetre apart and scrunched his eyes up.

Sherlock grabbed the coffee cup and sniffed. Pure vodka.

"Ergh." Sherlock wrinkled his nose. "Get up John, I am taking you home." he tossed the drink into the nearest bin.

John struggled a bit to get to his feet.

"Just a minute..." He slurred. "...damn legs, always the first to go.." 

John tried to get his legs working but, like a new born giraffe's they just were not cooperating.

Sherlock lifted John to his feet by the arms. He was surprisingly co-operative, smiling up at Sherlock as the detective wound one of his arms around the doctors waist and dragged one of the doctors arms over his shoulders.

He started walking John to the road to get a cab.

"Sherlock..." John tried to focus up to Sherlocks face over the hump of his rucked jumper and stretched arm. "Sherlock..."

"Just a minute John, we are nearly there."

"Sherlock..I'm scared." John said then, and Sherlock paused, looking down at his friend. 

"John...?"

Johns voice dropped to a harsh whisper.

"I think something really bad happened...."

#


	4. SHERLOCK'S CONUNDRUM

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> SleepingJohn is not the only personality living in Johns shattered soul.
> 
> Tweaked this a bit :D

CHAPTER THREE: SHERLOCK'S CONUNDRUM

Sherlock was desperately fascinated by DID and to have a sufferer so close was excellent of course, but so.... frustrating. 

Frustrating because as much as he wanted to study, experiment, find out all sorts of..stuff, this was John Watson, his only friend, closer to him than his own brother. The man who shot someone to save the life of the Freak he had known a matter of hours.

Sherlock knew without a doubt that John was a bad-arse. 

Tough. 

Loyal. 

Strong moral compass. 

From the little Sherlock knew of Johns early life he had battled some issues and burst through the other side with his soul intact. Alcoholism ran in the family. His deceased father had suffered. Sister too, although Sherlock had never met her. Of Johns deceased mother Sherlock knew next to nothing. 

John was like a Picasso painting. So much more complex in his simplicity than any other man Sherlock had ever met. It seemed fitting he would have something extremely unusual about himself.

So what had caused this split? 

This dividing of Johns core? 

And would it help to dig that out? 

Is that what would fix this?

What could he do to pull his John back together again? 

Perhaps he could get Mycroft to pull Johns file...ah, that way lay madness. A file would say A happened, then B, then C...not how Captain Watson himself felt, or reacted.

While mulling this over the subject of his musings was attempting, rather dismally, to pull off his jacket and hang it up. Sherlock remembered in time that John was a person, not a study, and helped him.

"Oh...Hey, thanks Sherlock..." John smiled up at him, eyes bright with alcohol.

"John really, you need the help." Sherlock snorted, and hung Johns coat up, followed by his own Belstaff and scarf. He pulled off his gloves while John shuffled over to the couch and sat down. Sherlock busied himself making tea.

Such a process, but therapeutic. This making and drinking of tea.

"John, do you think you could tell me what happened this afternoon?" Sherlock passed John his tea and sat opposite him in the chair John usually took.

"Thanks, tea, lovely..." John slurred, taking the cup and saucer in a slightly trembling hand. He took a sip and smiled. "Lovely."

"Thank you." Sherlock answered automatically. Social niceties. Boring.

"You want to know what happened?" John asked then. "As in, why am I slightly inebriated at two in the afternoon?" 

"Please, yes, and you missed work."

"Did I?" John said then. "I was sure I was on my way.." He drifted off, staring at his shoes, cup shivering in his hand.

"Did you experience any blank periods today, where you cannot recall where you were?" Sherlock asked, quite gently.

"I got drunk Sherlock, in the DAY. Of course I have black spots!" John snapped, head whipping up to stare embarrassed daggers at his flatmate.

Sherlock raised an eyebrow and sipped his tea. Blank spots indicated SleepingJohn may have....

...but wait. SleepingJohn protected TheBody at night, when John was asleep. Assuming John was not asleep in the pub, this indicated to Sherlock there may be another personality in John. 

So SleepingJohn was only there at night...So maybe SleepingJohn was not aware of this other personality, the drinking one who took John away from work today.

Fascinating.

"That was a great cuppa Sherlock..." John sighed, putting his empty cup and saucer indelicately on the coffee table, causing it to rattle, and then fall softly to the carpet.

"oooops.."

"I'll get it." Sherlock offered. "You will probably fall on your face."

Sherlock put his own cup on the table then swooped to retrieve Johns cup. As he sat back up on his heels to put the cup on the table John was staring at him. His eyes were intense. There was an edge to them Sherlock was unsure he liked. 

Then they softened.

"Sit next to me..." John suddenly said, his voice really breathy. He reached out and began to caress Sherlocks shoulders.

"Erm...John?" Sherlock asked, quirking an eyebrow at his friend. John, touching him? This was nice and not at all fair! 

John looked coyly at Sherlock. "No....silly. Do I look like John?" 

"Yes." Said Sherlocks Aspergers side. "Obviously." Although looking closer Sherlock saw very subtle differences. John's eyes were bright, his face had softened, and he was smiling a tiny fake-shy smile. His hands had not left Sherlocks shoulders and, while they were grippy, they were not digging into him at all.

"I am not John." said this NotJohn, and perfected a cute little frown, which left as soon as it appeared. A more softer look replaced it. 

NotJohn shifted forward and smiled gently at Sherlock. Okay, this one was not as scary as SleepingJohn and whoever got John drunk today but Sherlock still felt uncomfortable. It looked very much like John was coming on to him.

"Uh...John..."

"Flirt. My name is Flirt."

"Right. Flirt." Sherlock coughed. "Did you get TheBody drunk today?" 

"No." Flirt shook his head briskly, making Johns hair flip entrancingly. 

"Was that SleepingJohn?"

"God no silly. SleepingJohn only comes on duty when TheBody is sleeping." 

Sherlock noticed it was 'sleeping' not 'at night' and made a Mind Palace note of that.

"Then who got John drunk?" He asked, wanting to slot all these Alternate Personalities in a neat little row.

"Kiss me." Flirt whispered, sliding enticingly closer to Sherlock who was still on his knees.

"uh...Flirt...I am not..." Sherlock found himself conflicted and that was not at all fair. He had been hiding his neat little crush on John for years. 

"Don't you think I'm cute?" Flirt whispered, turing his Three Continent eyes on full bore.

Sherlock assessed this new personality. Coy look, lips parted, eyes full of come ons and promises...

"Yes. I do." Sherlock said. "Your eyes are beautiful. You are....gorgeous." He smiled as he allowed himself this little indulgence. "But Flirt, I am John's friend. I could hurt him if I kissed you, because even if I was kissing YOU, it is TheBody it would affect and TheBody is not...gay."

"But I am." Flirt said.

"Oh, I thought you were female..." Sherlock said then. "Huh..."

"Pft, don't be silly. TheBody is so gay-repressed he has gay fantasies of you under him, all moaning and pretty, but he pretends he 'fell' on you." Flirt did air quotes around the word fell. "Or he is 'protecting' you. Never heard it called that before..."

Flirt giggled, then slid back in the seat, parting his legs a little and sliding his arms out across the back of the couch.

"You like what you see though?"

"Yes." Sherlock answered honestly. John would not need to know this, it felt okay to admit it to Flirt, a totally different man. Still, he processed this information in a few seconds. 

Interesting. 

"So you are TheBodys sexual representation?" He asked.

"Oh do shut up Detective. Kiss me." Flirt lent forward, arms out, but Sherlock put his hands gently on this new personalities' upper arms to stop him.

"I can't Flirt. Not without TheBodys permission." A more difficult sentence had never been said. John...no, FLIRT, smelled so nice. Vodka and John. It sent unexpected signals through Sherlock.

"Oh but you want to, I can see from here.." Flirt murmured, lashes falling on his cheeks as his heavy lidded eyes checked Sherlock's body all over...and wasn't that a filthy feeling? Sherlock blushed a little. He coughed to cover up his whirling confusion.

"Flirt, can YOU tell me what happened in Afghanistan?" he asked, hoping this softer side of John would be able to access what happened and-

As it turned out, Sherlock assumed very wrongly.

Flirt changed, right before Sherlocks eyes. Became an ugly parody of John, with a twisted furious face and eyes of cold flint. The mouth pulled back and showed teeth like a cornered fox. He threw Sherlock away from him, sending Sherlock skidding across the rug to land awkwardly, but not painfully, against the wall.

With a sweep of his arm John sent everything on the coffee table crashing to the ground.

Then he stood, chest puffed out, fists clenched so hard Sherlock could see every sinew strained white. He stared at Sherlock with such venom Sherlock absently went through all the closest weapons to hand. Fire poker, John's old cane, skull if he had to!

This new personality shook and trembled as he stared daggers at Sherlock

"DONT..TOUCH..ME!!" He hissed angrily, fists clenched, white and veiny at his sides. "NEVER TOUCH ME!!!" 

Then he stormed over to Sherlocks prone body and smashed one of his fists into the wall above him, causing plaster to rain down on a Sherlocks hair like snow.

#


	5. THE ANGRY ONE

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock finally gets to let John know what's been going on.
> 
> Tweaked a tad :D

CHAPTER FOUR: THE ANGRY ONE

"John, stop! You're safe!" Sherlock raised his voice and his hands to protect his head in case this scary Alter wanted to render his face the same condition as the wall.

John swooped his arms around, fists clenched, eyes darting around the room. It looked like he was trying to find a way out, as of he were trapped. 

"John, you're safe!" Sherlock told him again, but John seemed not to listen. He crossed to the fireplace and looked into the mirror over it, breathing heavily as he scanned his whole face.

Sherlock leaped to his feet and grabbed Johns already lacerated hand in both of his own. He knew that look. It seemed as though John wanted to punch the mirror next. With a growl, John shook Sherlock off and then seemed to shudder before sliding down to the hearth and leaning back against the marble fireplace itself. 

His shoulders began to shake as he drew his knees up to his chest and flopped his head down onto them. He held his crumpled hand out from his body stiffly and it dripped blood slowly onto the carpet.

Sherlock saw the blood and the split skin and was grateful. THIS he could deal with.

He dropped gently next to John, tugging out a cloth handkerchief from his trouser pocket. As he lightly took Johns wrist in his hand, he noted it was his right hand that had been injured, his non dominant hand. This was interesting.

John sobbed.

"I think I broke a nail...." He whimpered, shuddering.

Sherlock pressed his handkerchief into Johns knuckles. John hissed in a breath and looked up, catching Sherlocks eyes in his own. Even red rimmed with tears Sherlock could tell John was back.

"Hello John." He said, voice deep with worry and a bit sore from shouting.

"Sherlock, what in the fuck is happening!?" John spat, hissing but not snatching his hand from Sherlock.

"You smashed a hole in the wall."

"Sherlock..." John warned.

Sherlock sighed.

"John, I think you are suffering from Dissociative Identity Disorder." Sherlock went on without preamble.

"What...huh?" John looked sick.

"So far I have met two distinct Other Johns, and heard from one other." Sherlock said.

"Uh, Sherlock, are you high?" John asked and hissed again as Sherlock peeled the handkerchief from his torn knuckles.

"Do you remember doing this John?" Sherlock asked, turning Johns hand to survey the damage and avoiding the confusion in Johns eyes. "Do you remember punching the wall? With your non dominant hand?"

"Yes...no...I remember the pain..." John said then. "But I have had a bit to drink..." 

"Do you remember going to the bar?" Sherlock asked then, keeping his eyes on Johns hand, feeling Johns pulse race against the fingertips he had placed gently on the inside of Johns wrist.

"That I do remember!" John declared.

"Really?"

John paused.

"I was on my way to work, and suddenly needed to have a drink..."

"And then, John...?" Sherlock said, finally looking up from the damaged hand to the damaged eyes. "You don't remember do you. Until I found you at the park. There's nothing is there?"

John shook his head, eyes wide. "Nothing...."

"Classic sign John. And the fact that I have now had a conversation with two of your Alters. Indirectly three, there's one who talks through another." Sherlock reeled off, as of he were talking about a shopping list.

"You have talked to these...Other parts of me?" John asked.

"Yes."

"Who...?"

"I met SleepingJohn Thursday night." Sherlock said. "After you disarmed the knife wielder at the pub. SleepingJohn told me he usually guards TheBody, which is you, at night. You have a knife under your pillow?"

"I do. How do you...oh, you deduced it." John nodded. Sherlock let Johns wrist go, stood and crossed the room to the first aid kit.

"No, SleepingJohn told me." He said. "Through UnderJohn, which is the unconscious part of you who is aware of your Alters." Sherlock walked back and knelt at Johns side. He gently smeared some cream on the broken knuckle skin.

"The Alter Who smashed the wall has not told me who he is, but I suspect he is the one who took you to the pub." He went on. "He seems rough, and angry." 

"God, I didn't hurt you did I?" John asked, and clamped his lips shut against the sudden pain of Sherlock putting gauze over his knuckles.

"John, the alter who punched the wall is not YOU. Even if he HAD hurt me, which he didn't, I would not have blamed you. It would have been him."

"This is nuts."John groaned, flopping his head back against the marble.

"No, it is fascinating." Sherlock said, dragging out some medical tape from the dispenser and cutting with his teeth.

"I bet you are loving this." John snorted sadly, miserable. "Seeing this sort of mental condition up close."

"No, not loving it." Sherlock said, pausing his taping to look up at John. "If it were anyone else, Lestrade, Mycroft, some stranger, it would be just research. But this is you. I don't want to leave this to 'run its course' so to speak with you. I want to fix this."

"Fix it?" John asked, flexing his newly taped knuckles a bit.

"Yes. Fix it. Did you not hear me?"

"And if it can't be fixed?"

"Impossible."

John snuffed out a laugh.

"Sherlock, YOU are impossible."

"I met another Alter, just before the angry one came out." Sherlock said, meeting Johns eyes again. "He came onto me."

"You're making that up!" John choked a quick laugh of disbelief.

"I assure you I am not." Sherlock said, one eyebrow riding up. "His name is Flirt. And he lived up to his name."

"Did you.." John coughed and circled his hand. "...Erm...take him up on his ..um...whatever he offered?"

"No." Sherlock said, not meeting John' eyes as he adjusted the bandage one last time.

"Okay, good, good..." John nodded. "....good..." he added, softer, looking away. "So how do you propose we fix this...situation."

"You could tell me about Afghanistan." Sherlock said in a low, soft, non threatening tone. John ran his now treated hand down his face, and shook his head.

"No, Sherlock, I really couldn't." he said.

"Could one of your Alters tell me?" Sherlock asked then.

John would not look at him.

He paused.

Then he nodded, and shrugged.

"Maybe..but how?" John asked, turning back to Sherlock. "Ask them nicely?" 

"No, John." Sherlock said. "I plan to hypnotise you."

#


	6. MEET SOME ALTERS

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock finally puts John under and sorts out some Alters.
> 
> Tiny tweek :D

CHAPTER FIVE: 

MEET SOME ALTERS.

It didn't work the first three times they tried because John was too self conscious. He couldn't relax. It was a Combination of many factors, not the least of which was the fact that Sherlock wanted to film each session. 

John went back to the clinic but only for a half day. For some reason he was tired and Sarah gave him the rest of the afternoon off. John figured that SleepingJohn must have been wandering at night, and that's why he was knackered, but Sherlock didn't mention anything. 

Of the other Alters nothing was heard.

Sherlock assured him it was perfectly safe, he had read all about the technique in the days between each try.

"And how many Dissasociatives have you hypnotised Sherlock?" John demanded. 

"None. You are the first." Sherlock said. "And you know this."

"So forgive me if I find it hard relax and trust you!" John exclaimed.

John went to the pub as usual, making the most of his free beers and time with Lestrade, who graciously never mentioned the snog.

Sherlock solved a few armchair cases, played his violin, and annoyed Anderson with a 'dinosaur in lingerie' drawing on the Yards' white board. 

(Alright, John helped with the bra, but that was all....honest!)

Finally on Friday night John surprised Sherlock and went under.

A combination of tiredness, a comfy corduroy Lazy Boy chair Sherlock bought especially for the session, in full reclining position, and Sherlocks deep voice did the trick. 

Sherlock even felt it prudent this time to switch the video recorder on. John might like to see his Alters.

Sherlock settled more fully into the chair opposite his sleeping friend. He looked over his sleeping form and felt a kind of warmness in his chest. John's deep breathing signified a trust in him that Sherlock didn't expect to be so affected by.

He drew breath and began.

"I would like to speak to SleepingJohn, if I may." Sherlock said, keeping his tone light.

After a second, John's head moved, and eyes opened. 

He sat up too quickly and Sherlock just knew straight away It was not SleepingJohn.

"You sure you don't want to talk to me?" John's voice was rough, and his fists clenched. The previously injured knuckles had barely healed but the skin held.

"I want to talk to all of you." Sherlock said, a little nervous but staying right where he was. This was essentially John. 

His friend.

Even if he looked mean and nasty.

"What's your name?" Sherlock asked then, keeping his eyes steady on John's face.

"I am TheFuryandtheFear" John's Alter said, in a rough tone. His accent was not John's either. "I punch. I get drunk. I can fight. Nobody hurts TheBody."

"YOU sometimes do." Sherlock corrected, nodding to the scarred knuckles on John's right hand.

"I'm allowed. He sometimes likes it." Fury said, and then suddenly grinned at Sherlock. It was not a bad grin. More a cheeky lads grin. But with a glint of danger in it.

"When did you arrive in John's life?" Sherlock asked then. "I assume Afghanistan."

"You asyoooom do ya?" Fury snorted. "What tha fuck do you know posh boy?"

"That's why I am asking." Sherlock said. "So I CAN know."

Furys face became a mask of anger, barely holding together. He was angry, and he was frightened, and the combination was dangerous.

"I was the first." he said in a callous whisper. "I have been here since Da." 

Sherlock suppressed a cold shiver.

This was bad.

This was really bad.

It did not take a sodding genius to know what this meant, and it was way more than an alcoholic father. To shatter a man like this would take sustained abuse. Abuse John had never even alluded too part from admitting Harry's drinking problem way back when they first met.

Perhaps John should see a professional, Sherlock was afraid he was inadequate. He had expected war trauma not childhood trauma.

Fury's eyes closed then and he fell gently back onto the recliner. Sherlock could not say he was upset. Fury was a scary guy.

Sherlock put John back under, and prepared to bring him out. That seemed enough for a first session.

But before he could, John's eyes opened again, and he stretched luxuriously, like a cat.

"Hello again." Flirt said, smiling sweetly, turning those EYES to Sherlock again.

"Hello Flirt." Sherlock acknowledged, secretly pleased that Flirt was here. He would analyse why later.

"Wanna take me to dinner, the snog me senseless against a dirty alley wall?" Flirt nestled into the cushion behind his head, and twirled some hair in his fingers.

Sherlock smiled.

"Flirt, you are adorable." he said. "I want to kiss you, of course. But as I said, not until TheBody let's me. Or doesn't."

Flirt pouted.

"Tease." he said. "Do you want to talk dirty to me then?" he added hopefully. 

"I would like to talk to you. Ask you questions." Sherlock said.

"Dirty questions?" Flirt perked.

"No. Just ordinary questions."

Flirt pouted again and sighed.

"Go ahead then."

"When did you come to live in John?"

"Oh sweetheart I am new." He smiled. "Bran New". He looked under his fringe. "Virrrrrrrginal." he fluttered his eyes at Sherlock and Sherlock found himself responding quite positively. 

He laughed.

"I was created at the pub with that hunky Lestrade." Flirt went on. "After that brute with the knife which Fury took down. Ergh." Flirt shivered. "Fury protects us when TheBody is awake. SleepingJohn looks after us when we are asleep. I do believe that lovely Greg kissed ME goodbye though."

"Did you come ON to Greg Lestrade?" Sherlock asked, wondering why that had anything to do with anything a realising he may be a little...jealous. How tedious. Like an ordinary man.

"Come onto Greggles, with YOU waiting for me at home? Don't be silly! He thought I was just TheBody" Flirt giggled. "No, after all that nastiness at the bar....TheBody made me as something you might find attractive."

Flirt nestled, presenting all his good bits, his strong upper body and his pretty eyes for Sherlock 

"DO you....find me attractive?" He asked, seemingly to absently rub his chest over his T-shirt but Sherlock knew it was designed to make his eyes travel with them. Travel they did. Seems Sherlock could be a slave to his base instincts after all.

However, Sherlock was unsure how to answer. So he went with honesty. What the heck, John would never know.

"I find John very attractive." He said, voice low and velvet. 

Flirt pouted yet again. "I will just have to....try harder!" he proclaimed, and winked. Sherlock smiled again. It was hard to be objective when Flirt was flirting.

"I don't suppose you know what happened in Afghanistan?" Sherlock asked and Flirt flipped his hand.

"Ugh I won't talk about that!" Flirt curled his nose up. "Who would?"

"Maybe, just the basics?" Sherlock swallowed his pride and turned on his own 'flirt face'. He was interested to note that it seemed to work on more than just Molly Hooper.

"SleepingJohn DID come to live with John in Afghanistan." Flirt said. "But it was TheFuryandtheFear who killed the Major. He was the one who HAD to shoot him. He was the only one who could really." Flirt frowned a little, and twirled his hair a bit. Then he went on:

"He woke up from a long long sleep to do it. Hung around for a while after, put John in The Box a couple of times, and was needed when John got shot of course. Then got bored when TheBody went to live in that beige bedsit." 

Flirt sighed. "Only came back when John wanted to eat his gun a few times."

Sherlock made a gruff sound, but Flirt went on.

"Then TheBody had to scream for Fury to take down that horrid man in the bar. Is it any wonder TheBody wanted a nice man to cuddle after that, and I came along?"

Flirt closed his eyes and stretched but Sherlock forgot to look. His brain swam. After so long with no information, this onslaught was dizzying. 

Suddenly Flirt cocked his head cutely, listening.

"Oh,UnderJohn says SleepingJohn wants to speak to you. Bye-bye good looking." Flirt used his fingers to give Sherlock a cute wave and was gone. In his place was the wide eyed SleepingJohn. 

He sat up, wrapped his arms around himself and rocked.

"UnderJohn says I have to tell you. I have to tell you about Afghanistan." SleepingJohn said. 

He paused.

"He says to tell you he trusts you."

Another pause.

"He says *I* have to tell you because TheFuryandtheFear will get too angry." 

Sherlock nodded, then made sure the video was still recording.

"Please go ahead SleepingJohn. Tell me about Afghanistan."

SleepingJohn lent forward as if in pain and began. 

#


	7. SHERLOCK PULLS IN THE MIDDLIN' GUNS

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Detective Inspector Lestrade gets pulled in to help.
> 
> I added more emotions into this. It was a bit wooden before.

CHAPTER SIX: 

SHERLOCK PULLS IN THE MIDDLIN' GUNS

When Sherlock slid the tiny video cassette over to John next morning at breakfast the Doctor refused point blank to see it.

Or the day after that. 

Or indeed every day the next week.

It was quite hellish for Sherlock. 

He had listened to the whole story SleepingJohn had told on tape and he was already in two minds (pun not intended) over letting John see the video. And even so, CERTAINLY not on his own. 

Sherlock was not prone to bad dreams but the nightmare of what happened to Dr Watson in that desert war played on his mind.

And SleepingJohn was very.....descriptive.

And then, of course, Sherlock asked himself if John SHOULD see the video. What if it made him worse? What if he jumped out he window? What if he ate his gun or walked into traffic or leaped off a bridge! Any number of scenarios played on Sherlocks mind and he didn't argue too much each time John refused to see the video.

However, the other side of Sherlock,the side that solved complex puzzles, knew for certain that John needed to be made aware of things, so he could begin to heal. Sherlock would be right there and...what if someone else could be roped in? Not Mycroft, he would most likely want to perform experiments on John, and not anyone from the clinic because frankly they were all insipid and stupid and would gossip like parrots.

In the end Sherlock went to see Lestrade. 

His reasoning was that Lestrade had been present when the Alters had reappeared, and even got to see a new one created, even though may not have been aware of it. 

He was also John's friend and, much as he was loathe to admit it, Sherlock was a bit out of his depth. 

"Ah Mister Holmes, to what do I owe this pleasure?" Lestrade said as Sherlock entered the room. It looked like paperwork was going to have to be put on pause.

For once though, Lestrade was surprised to see, the Consulting Detective did not sit down like he owned the place.

Greg put down his pen.

"Can we talk, in private?" Sherlock asked, hands in his coat pockets. "It's about John."

"I fucking knew it! I knew there was something wrong!" Lestrade surprised Sherlock by saying loudly. "Close the door, sit down." 

Lestrade waved his hand at the door. 

Sherlock did as he was asked. 

The door clicked shut with a satisfactory 'snick'. 

Then he stalked back and collapsed almost bonelessly onto the chair in front of Lestrade's desk.

"John..." Sherlock stopped. He actually couldn't talk. Why couldn't he talk? There was an obstruction in his throat...like a lump...

"Jesus, he's got cancer!" Lestrade hissed and gripped the wood of his desk in panic.

"No..." Sherlock shook his head, and swallowed a few times. His eyes stung. Maybe he was allergic to Anderson?

"Fuck, what's worse than cancer?" Lestade squeaked then.

"What the hell are you going on about?" Sherlock asked in a weirdly husky voice. Definitely an allergy. Anderson's cheap cologne had been mighty strong this morning....

"Sherlock, you're crying, you big pillock! What's wrong with John?" Lestarde demanded. 

Sherlock put his hand to his face and found it was indeed wet with tears.

So, not Anderson's stench then...

"If you do not tell me what is wrong in the next three seconds so help me God Sherlock I will take a switch to you!" Greg hissed through his gritted teeth.

"Calm down Detective Inspector." Sherlock swallowed. "No need for hysterics. John...is okay. He is just...not himself. Or rather, his IS himself but more of him....self...." Sherlock trailed off. "Keep what I am about to say confidential Lestrade..."

Lestrade just looked daggers at him, fingers curling into fists.

"The other week at the pub. With the knife and the disarming...something happened to John." Sherlock started.

"He didn't have a scratch on him." Lestrade assured Sherlock.

Sherlock frowned. He set his mouth.

"This...issue with John....it goes back further than the pub Lestrade..." He coughed, mentally willing his eyes to stop watering. "When John was a child something happened to him. Something extremely bad. With his Da, as far as I can surmise. It was so bad he split into two district personalities. At least, that's what I believe happened."

"The fuck...?"

"After he left that situation this other personality, a rough and dangerous one called TheFuryandtheFear, lay dormant."

"Sherlock-"

"Then in Afghanistan John witnessed an atrocity which woke up the dormant Alter and made another Alter come out. SleepingJohn. He protects TheBody, which is John, while John is asleep. Or hypnotised, as I just found out."

"What in the hell-"

"They lay dormant after John came back to England, to London. After he was shot. In Afghanistan. While he was in the bedsit. Until that night at the pub." Sherlock swallowed over his short sentences, hoping enough information had come through. His throat hurt and it was hard to talk.

Sherlock looked up.

"You see, John did not disarm that knife wielding man at your pub night. TheFuryandtheFear did."

"Are you seriously telling me John has three separate personalities inside him, like a Skitzy?" Lestrade asked then, wondering if Sherlock had finally cracked.

"Five, not three. And schizophrenia is not the same thing." Sherlock said. "John had Dissociative Identity Disorder. Used to be Multiple Personality Disorder."

"You're shitting me."

"I most assuredly am not. Along with SleepingJohn and TheFuryandtheFear, there is UnderJohn, which is Johns subconscious which is aware of the Alters, and Flirt, which is Johns latent homosexual side."

Lestrade's brain finally caught up. He slapped his hand to his forehead.

"Ohhhh...that's why he kissed me..."

"What?" Sherlock snapped.

"Alter everything was being sorted at the pub. I put him in a taxi. He...ah...kissed me. On the mouth..." 

Sherlock slit his eyes at Lestrade.

"You remember that I asked you if John had done anything unusual that night and you said no? THAT, Lestrade, kissing you on the mouth...THAT constitutes something unusual!"

"Calm down Princess, don't get your knickers in a twist. It didn't register at the time. He IS Three Continents Watson you know, he has a REPUTATION" Lestrade snapped. 

Then he grinned at Sherlock.

"Anyone would think you were jealous..."

"Yes, well. You saw an Alter get born. I am a little....envious." Was as much as Sherlock was willing to admit right then. Lestrade was a very good looking man, and a strong policeman. Perhaps that was Flirt's type? 

"Eh?" Greg asked then, looking confused.

"Flirt. He's new. He came about exactly on that night, as something nice and soft to offshoot the tough protector Alters." Sherlock said. "It was Flirt who kissed you. On the mouth." Sherlock knew he was glaring daggers at Lestrade but he couldn't help it.

"I see." Greg nodded. Then said: "Why are you telling me all this?

 

Sherlock then went on to explain the video he had made and the stubbornness of one Dr Watson in not viewing it.

"What the SleepingJohn personality told you. About what happened in Afghanistan. How bad?" Lestrade asked at the end of Sherlocks explanation.

Sherlocks "Anderson Allergy" seemed to flare again for a split second before Sherlock beat it down with sheer force of will.

"To tell you the truth Detective Inspector....I have no idea how John is even still with us." He whispered.

"That bad huh?" Greg said gently.

"That bad." Sherlock acknowledged.

"And you want him to see it why?"

Sherlock paused.

"I have a feeling seeing that video may go a long way to pulling all the separate parts of John together again."

"Maybe Sherlock." Lestrade nodded, thinking. "Maybe you have a point. But, mister genius detective, you have forgotten something." Lestrade said, eyes sad.

"I highly doubt that." Sherlock said sincerely.

"TheFuryandtheFear was around in his childhood. With his Da. Nothing to do with Afghanistan." Greg said. " How do you propose to pull THAT John together?"

Sherlock paused. Now it had come down to why he had searched Lestrade out, why he was sad eyed and hat-in-hand in Lestrade's office instead of at home burning eyeballs and playing his violin as if it were just another day.

"Greg..." He said. "I need your help..." 

#


End file.
